


Cultural Exchange

by AlyaRayne



Series: The Tales of Mahanon Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish headcanons, Dorian Pavus being a tease, Dorian Pavus is an ass man, Fluff, M/M, Mahanon Lavellan got da booty, Not too graphic but still, Porn With Plot, blowjob, mentions of tattooing, the elvhen language, this wasn't supposed to be porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyaRayne/pseuds/AlyaRayne
Summary: “So, it occurs to me that I barely know anything about your people.” said Dorian as his hand brushed over Mahanon’s bare back. The elf smiled into the pillows, sliding his leg over the soft sheets. He felt relaxed and calm for the first time in weeks, and he was determined to enjoy it.“What would you like to know?”





	Cultural Exchange

“So, it occurs to me that I barely know anything about your people,” said Dorian as his hand brushed over Mahanon’s bare back. The elf smiled into the pillows, sliding his leg over the soft sheets. He felt relaxed and calm for the first time in weeks, and he was determined to enjoy it.

“What would you like to know?” he asked, turning his head just enough to see Dorian’s face, chuckling to himself at the man’s usually tidy mustache that was now a curling mess over his lip. There was a soft sheen of water from their shared bath that was reflecting the firelight, turning his skin gold, and his usually perfectly coifed hair was still dripping and hanging messily into his grey eyes.

“Are all elves this cuddly after sex?” he asked, his hand sliding once more along Mahanon’s back, though venturing lower this time, dragging his fingertips over the round, muscled swell of Mahanon’s arse.

“Wouldn’t know,” replied Mahanon with a small smirk, pushing back into Dorian’s hand in invitation. “I haven’t had sex with all elves.”

“Smartarse.” Dorian chuckled, landing a gentle smack on Mahanon’s sheet covered cheek. He laughed, kicking Dorian equally gently in the shin.

“You love it.”

“That I do, Amatus.” Dorian purred, and Mahanon couldn’t help but shiver. “But tell me, is it true that you sacrifice children to acquire their blood for use in your…what are your tattoos called again?”

“ _Vallaslin_?” supplied Mahanon, raising an eyebrow. He’d been asked that question before, of course, by arseholes who’d actually thought that particular rumor was true. He’d ignored them, then, not willing to waste his breath. Dorian didn’t ask like they had, full of malice and contempt. He asked with a sparkle in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “Why yes, _vhenan_. But only _Shem_ children. Dalish children are too important.”

“And _Shem_ children aren’t?” asked the Altus.

“No, _Shem_ children are expendable. There are so many of them after all,” answered Mahanon, trying to hold in his laughter.

“You really are horrible, you know that? _Shem_ children are expendable? What would the chantry say?” he shook his head, tsking softly. “I’ve always wondered what _shem_ means, come to think of it. Is it just your word for humans?”

“ _Shem_ is short for _Shem’len_ , which translates to quick children. It can technically refer to any other race but is mostly used for humans. I should also mention that it’s…not the most polite thing to call someone.” Mahanon explained, almost instantly reminded of all the times he sat down to teach the children of his clan. He hadn’t realized he’d missed that particular duty quite this much. It was a good feeling to share the knowledge of his people again. Though he couldn’t ever remember a time with his clan where he’d taught anything while having his arse lovingly fondled. Not that he was complaining.

“No, I figured that. Not with the way it’s usually said. All bitterness and vitriol.” Dorian said, fingers dipping slightly inward, and Mahanon couldn’t help but shift his hips, trying to encourage him to press further. The tease only pulled away, resuming his earlier action of running his fingers over Mahanon’s spine. “I can’t really blame the elves, though. Humans have been rather shitty towards them.”Mahanon nodded in agreement with a pointed look at the human who was currently being rather shitty to him. He both hated and loved when Dorian teased him, though the man got nothing but endless enjoyment from it. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Dorian asking, “So how do you make your ink, if not with the blood of children? I assume there must be some blood in it, considering it translates to ‘blood writing’.”

“Mostly it’s just made like normal ink, except that we have to use rarer plants to get the colors right and make sure it’s not poisonous. Then the Keeper infuses it with some of their magic to help it bond to the skin and aid healing. The blood actually comes from the person receiving the v _allaslin_ , in a show of sacrifice. That they are willing to give their blood for their patron god and their clan.” explained Mahanon, shifting to his side so he could look at Dorian more fully. The man looked a little surprised, almost if he had been expecting a different answer. “It’s not blood magic if that’s what that look is for. The blood isn’t added until the last step after the Keeper has already performed their spell.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking that at all, actually,” said Dorian with a shake of his head, his hand that had stilled for a moment going back to its teasing touches. Mahanon was trying to ignore them, but he could feel himself heating. “I’m more surprised that you actually told me. From what I’ve heard of the Dalish, they hold quite tightly to their secrets.”

“Not with those we trust,” answered Mahanon, his heart fluttering with the small confession, not that it was the first time he’d told Dorian he trusted him. As it did every time, Dorian’s face seemed to simultaneously light up and slip further into shock for a split second before he regained control of his features, lips curling into a soft smile.  

“That’s…good to know, Amatus.” he said finally, bending to place a gentle kiss on the elf’s lips. Mahanon returned the kiss eagerly, ignoring the tickle of Dorian’s mustache. They parted far more quickly than Mahanon would have liked, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it before Dorian was saying softly, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Not a problem, _vhenan._ Any other Dalish mysteries I can solve for you?” He was enjoying himself far too much with this, it seemed. It had been so long since he’d gotten to really talk about his own culture, as steeped in Andrastianism as the Inquisition was.

“How do you get your _vallaslin_? Is there a special ritual? I know that it symbolizes coming of age, but do you have a party, or is it a quiet affair?” Dorian asked almost immediately, seemingly as excited to learn as Mahanon was to share.

“Usually it’s a quiet affair. You spend the day meditating on the gods, mostly on the one you’ve chosen as patron, and on the path you’ve chosen to take. Then, you have to purify your skin, usually in a stream, unless it’s winter, then we use a jug to pour it over the person. Running water is the only way to cleanse the body of any corrupting influences or harmful energy. When the Keeper begins, there are no breaks, and if you cry out or make any sound at all you are deemed unready to receive the v _allaslin_.”

“So, you have to sit there, perfectly quiet, while a needle shoves ink into your face over and over again?” asked Dorian, looking a little unnerved. It seemed his hand did not share his discomfort because it had once more returned to its position on Mahanon’s arse, this time to drag his nails over the sensitive skin.  

“Pretty much,” said Mahanon with a small laugh that came out sounding a little more like a moan than he meant it to. He was determined to get through this without letting Dorian distract him. “It’s hard, but it’s worth it, and it’s a good test to prove to yourself what you’re made of. I was always unsure of my own strength before I got mine. Afterward, it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I was the Keeper’s first, had been since I was a child, but it was the first time that I ever really felt like I could do it.”

“Sounds a lot like a harrowing, if you ask me.” said Dorian, still looking a little uncomfortable.

“Well, it wasn’t fun, and my face did burn like I’d stuck it Andraste’s pyre, but I was also the happiest I’d ever been,” Mahanon replied, shifting closer, his marked hand coming up to rest on Dorian’s arm. Those teasing fingers were pressing inside again, and it was all Mahanon could do to not just shove himself back on them. By the Creators, if he would just angle a little to the left…  

Dorian laughed, low and warm, and pressed a kiss to Mahanon’s head, fingers pulling away once more and Mahanon had to fight the growl of frustration that was building in his chest. “Whatever works for you, I suppose. And they do look rather fetching on you, I must say.” Mahanon could feel his cheeks heat a little at the praise, as they always did when Dorian complimented him.

Dorian cupped Mahanon’s face now, leaving his arse alone for the moment, his thumb running over one of the lines on Mahanon’s cheek before he bent to press a kiss to his lips. It was chaste, and Mahanon had to force himself not to follow when he pulled away. Had to keep himself from pulling Dorian closer and kissing him until they were both breathless. Despite his slight annoyance, he was having far too much fun with this game to stop now. “Which god does your _vallaslin_ represent?”Dorian asked as soon as they had parted, a wicked glint in his eye, though his face held only curiosity. “Or does one not ask such a thing?”

“Some Dalish take offense to being asked, but I’ve never been one of them,” said Mahanon, having to clear his throat to keep his voice from cracking. Damn Dorian for riling him up this easily. “I chose Sylaise, the Hearth-Keeper. She gave the elves fire, and taught us to heal using magic and herbs.”

“That…doesn’t actually sound much like you. No offense, Amatus, but you are shit at healing spells,” said Dorian, and Mahanon couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re not wrong, _vhenan_. Nor am I very good at mixing potions, though I can bandage a wound and guide a babe into this world well enough.” Dorian seemed a touch impressed by this news, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything before Mahanon was continuing. “Choosing Sylaise as your patron means that you would rather heal than hurt and that you would rather mend than tear apart. _Vir Atish'an_ is what we call it. The path of peace.

“I’ve told you before that I had a lot of problems with my magic when I was younger. That I couldn’t control my lightning very well, and it made me anxious and reluctant to use my abilities at all. When it came time to decide my patron, Keeper Istimaethoriel sat me down to tell me about Sylaise. She said that _Vir Atish’an_ may be the harder path to walk, but that it would bring me the peace I had always wanted. When I meditated on it, it felt like the right choice. I’ve never regretted it.”     

“And now look at you, mending the sky one fade rift at a time.” said Dorian with a chuckle.

“The irony wasn’t lost on me,” Mahanon said, a smile on his lips. “I actually had a good laugh about it after I stopped thinking Cassandra was going to kill me.”

“You’ve stopped thinking she’s going to kill you?” asked Dorian. “I still look over my shoulder every time I hear her name, expecting her to be waiting there with a sword and that…glare of hers.”

“She does take some getting used to.” agreed Mahanon, hooking his leg over Dorian’s. He liked the feeling of Dorian’s skin, slightly roughened from thin black hairs, against his sensitive inner thighs. It made a shiver run up his spine.  

The Altus responded by pulling Mahanon closer to him, their chests pressing together. Dorian’s skin was cold compared to Mahanon’s, and he would have made some remark about weak northerners but Dorian spoke again before he could. “You mentioned that the path of peace is harder to walk, but what is it compared to?”

“Well, the hunters follow _Vir Tanadhal_ , the way of three trees. _Vir Assan_ , the Way of the Arrow, to fly straight and never waver;   _Vir Bor'assan_ , the Way of the Bow, to bend but never break; and _Vir Adahlen_ , the Way of the Forest. Which can either mean to receive the gifts of the hunt with mindfulness or that we are stronger together than as one. They mostly follow Andruil, the goddess of the hunt.” he paused, hesitating for a moment before he decided that he’d come this far already, what was one more Dalish secret. “There’s…actually a fourth part to _Vir Tanadhal_ , but we almost never talk about it. _Vir Banal'ras,_ the Way of Shadow. Any Dalish hunter following this path is out for vengeance. Here, they would be called assassins.”

“Why do you never speak about the Way of Shadow? Is it considered…I’m not sure what word I want to use here…sinful maybe? Wrong?” asked Dorian, pulling Mahanon’s leg further up his hip.

“Not…completely. It’s considered short-sighted, as vengeance harms not only your target but you and all around you as well. Also, news that the Dalish have assassins, even if only a few, would definitely cause some trouble with humans that already fear a Dalish uprising. It’s better that we…sweep it under the proverbial rug, as it were.” Mahanon answered, resisting the urge to rock himself against the Altus. He won’t lose this game just because he could feel Dorian hardening against him.

“Ahh, that definitely makes sense. I can’t imagine many nobles that would be happy to hear the Dalish could potentially be a threat to their way of life.” Dorian said, sliding his fingers along the sensitive skin on the back of Mahanon’s thigh. “You said that most hunters follow Andruil, but is that a requirement? Can a hunter choose their own patron, or do they have to pray to the goddess of the hunt?”

“Any elf can choose any god, though some think that choosing the wrong patron could harm the hunt. Honestly, I just think it’s a matter of preference and personal opinion.  In fact, a friend of mine who was a hunter had Falon’din’s _vallaslin_.” said Mahanon, letting his fingers trail over Dorian’s chest.

“And Falon’din is your god of death, correct?” Dorian asked, breath hitching ever so slightly as Mahanon’s nail caught his nipple. It was a small victory, but Mahanon would take it.

“Well, death and fortune. His name literally means death friend, and it’s his job to guide the souls of the dead to their eternal rest. Though, since all the gods were sealed away a long time ago, we bury our dead with an oaken staff to help guide them now.” said Mahanon. “My friend said once that death should always be a friend, not an enemy, and that he would not fear to go where others refused to tread. He left the clan before I did. Wanted to see the world for himself.”

“Do you know what became of him?” asked Dorian, eyes steadily darkening as Mahanon’s fingers gently pinched his nipple.

“No. He left a year before I went to the conclave.”Mahanon said. He’d been worried about Ithelan since the other man had left, and now that he wasn’t with his clan anymore either, he had no way of knowing what became of his friend. He hadn’t wanted to be found though, so Mahanon was never going to try. “I hope he found what he was looking for.”

Apparently sensing that Mahanon didn’t really walk to talk about missing friends, Dorian helpfully changed the subject. “I know very little of the Elvhen Pantheon, though I have heard of Elgar’nan and Mythal. Not that impressive, considering how prevalent they are in what little history we can find. But I do wonder, how many gods do you have?”

Mahanon couldn’t help but laugh. To most people who only believed in one god, the Elvhen Pantheon was vast and daunting. Their expressions upon learning that there was not only one Elvhen god but seven were usually priceless.  “We have Elgar’nan, god of vengeance and fatherhood, and Mythal, the great protector.  Falon’din, friend of the dead and his twin brother Dirthamen, keeper of secrets. Then there’s Andruil, the huntress and her sister Sylaise, the hearth-keeper, and June, master of the craft, who is either Andruil and Sylaise’s brother, or Sylaise’s husband depending on who you ask. And finally, we have Ghilan'nain, the halla mother, chosen of Andruil.” He counted them off by pressing his fingers against Dorian’s bare chest, just close enough to tease his already abused nipple. “Oh, and I suppose there’s Fen’Harel, the dread wolf, be we don’t usually consider him part of the pantheon. He’s…more of a boogeyman to scare the children into staying out of the forest at night.”

“I knew about Fen’Harel, actually. The trickster god who trapped the others. I always wondered why he did it.” said Dorian, a thoughtful expression on his face as his hand slipped casually over Mahanon’s arse.

“Some say jealousy, others say that he’d always wanted power and with the others locked away, he thought he would be the only one worshiped. Personally, I have no idea what would drive a man to betray his kin. I hope it was worth it, whatever his reasons.” said Mahanon, a gasp forcing its way out of his throat as Dorian dragged his nails over the space where arse met thigh.

“And you use his name like a curse? I’ve heard you say ‘By the Dread Wolf’ a fair few times during meetings, or when you drop something.” Dorian continued, a smug smile on his face. He loved pulling reactions from Mahanon.

“We do often use his name as a curse, the worst of which is ‘May the Dread Wolf take you’, but we also use it as a way of telling someone to take care, and to wish them safe travels. ‘May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent’ or ‘May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps’. Many people believe that Fen’Harel travels the beyond, waiting to devour lost souls that wander too far, so we pray that he never finds them.” 

“Speaking of, wasn’t there a mabari in one of the legends?” asked Dorian, eyebrows drawing down as he tried to remember. “Something about a mabari catching him in the fade and grabbing him by the tail?”

“Do you want the whole story, or do you want me to condense it down?” asked Mahanon, though he had a feeling he knew which one Dorian would choose.

“The whole story, if you please, Amatus. The more details there are, the more can be learned.” That, and he wanted to keep Mahanon talking while he tormented him, and the elf knew it. He liked to see how long Mahanon could last before the teasing became too much for him.

“Spoken like a true scholar,” said Mahanon, smiling. He loved a challenge after all. “Alright then,” he cleared his throat, affecting his best impression of what he believed a storyteller should sound like. “Long ago, a clan lived on the Silent Plains. It was a terrible, lonely place where the sun was forbidden to shine. Their Keeper had a coursing hound, and they had run down deer and hares and wolves together when they were young. But they had grown old together, Keeper and hound, and now only dozed before the campfire, dreaming of hunts.

"But then the Dread Wolf came, for the Keeper was wise and kind—the things Fen’Harel hates above all else. At night, he tried to steal into the Keeper’s dreams, to twist his mind and turn him against the People. But even in dreams, the courser guarded his master. He caught the Dread Wolf’s scent and gave chase across the Fade.

"Fen’Harel tried to shake his pursuer, but the hound ran as coursers can only run in their dreams. Even the wind couldn’t have fled that hound. He ran the Dread Wolf down and grabbed him by the tail. Fen’Harel howled, so loud that the Veil shook and even the stars scattered in fear. But the hound wouldn’t let go.

"Neither hound nor Wolf gave in. Finally, Fen’Harel bit off his own tail to escape, and away he fled. Ever since, the Dread Wolf thinks twice about playing his tricks when dogs are on guard."

“That must have hurt,” said Dorian, and though the tale was hardly comedic there was a smile on his face. Mahanon’s voice had degraded steadily from ‘wise storyteller’ to ‘dying old man’ as he’d relayed the tale, and Dorian hadn’t been able to hold in his laughter. He also hadn’t been able to break Mahanon’s focus, not that he’d tried much once he’d started laughing.

“One would imagine,” he said through a giggle of his own. He had barely been able to hold in his own laughter once Dorian had started, but he still managed to finish. “The Keeper tells it far better, and without the horrible voice.”

“No, no, by all means, tell every story with that voice from now on. I fear you could make even the most boring text entertaining. “

“Really? Even the twenty-three pages on Orlesian etiquette I’m supposed to read before the ball?” Mahanon asked, raising an eyebrow. He really doubted that anything could make that interesting, but at this point, he was willing to try.

“Well, maybe not that. Though I do hear they get rather testy about proper usage of the silver, so you may want to pay close attention to those pages,” replied Dorian with a warm chuckle, fingers once again dipping inward to slide teasingly over his hole. Mahanon had to bite back a moan as they pressed just slightly in.

“Yes, Vivienne’s already told me all about my gruesome and untimely death should I choose the wrong fork, or wear the wrong colored shoes. Right now I’m just hoping that Corypheus will attack Skyhold and bury me under at least five feet of rubble before we set out for Halamshiral.” Mahanon said, mostly jokingly, shifting just enough that Dorian’s finger was threatening to slide inside. Before that could happen the man was pulling away to settle once more on Mahanon’s hip.

“It does rather remind me of all those horrible parties my parents forced me to go to when I was younger,” said Dorian thoughtfully, ignoring the frustration on Mahanon’s face. “Do the Dalish have strict rules of etiquette?”

Mahanon snorted, turning his head to laugh into the pillows. “Is that a real question?” he asked through his giggles, “You do know that we live in the wild, right? When would we have a use for etiquette?”

“I don’t know. During one of the moonlit nights you spend dancing around campfires?”

“No, we don’t have rules for those nights. Not much need for them when you’re all frolicking naked and getting drunk on wine,” said Mahanon, looking back up at Dorian.  

The man shook his head, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a disbelieving smirk.  “Now I know you’re shitting me, Amatus.” he said.

“What gave me away?” asked Mahanon, slipping his hand down Dorian’s chest to toy with that enticing trail of hair. The Altus gasped, hips rocking against Mahanon, who couldn’t hold back his own soft moan. He hadn’t been able to feel it very well before, but Dorian was hard and hot with arousal, and Mahanon knew that whatever game they were playing it was swiftly coming to an end.  

“Well, for one you’ve spent a lot of time reminding people that the Dalish don’t dance naked around campfires. Though it does make a very nice mental image.” he paused, and though his voice had been steady, whatever he was thinking of was clearly affecting him. His grey eyes raked down Mahanon’s mostly exposed form, his hand absentmindedly sliding over the elf’s hip. A second later he shook his head, licking his lips, and Mahanon couldn’t stop the shudder that went through him. Fenedhis, Dorian was going to kill him one of these days with that look. “So sorry, Amatus, I seem to have gotten distracted.” he purred, hand sliding lower to cup Mahanon’s arse again, nails digging into the firm flesh. “What were we talking about?”

“D-Dalish,” he had to stop to clear his throat, his voice cracking as heat flared low in his stomach. He could feel himself hardening fully now, unable to keep his body under control any longer. “Dalish etiquette, I think. Though there isn’t really much to talk about there.” A rough squeeze to his cheek make him tense, hips canting forward, and they both moaned at the friction.   

“Hmm, well then, seems I’ll have to think of more questions to ask you,” said Dorian, still with that infuriating purr in his voice that always made Mahanon’s pulse race. Before the elf could respond, he was being shoved back against the pillows and Dorian’s lips were on his neck. He gasped, breath hitching as Dorian’s teeth sunk into his sensitive skin, sure to leave marks.

“ _Vhenan_ , ahh, _fenedhis_ ,” he breathed, sliding his legs so Dorian could rest between them. They’d just been here not two hours ago when the sun was first rising, and yet Mahanon was already burning with arousal once more.

One lithe, strong fingered hand slid down his chest to play with his nipple, and Mahanon couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting up, his cock sliding over Dorian’s stomach. The Altus chuckled, his tongue soothing the bite. “My, my, Amatus. So needy already? Whatever am I going to do with you?” he muttered, lips pressed against Mahanon’s ear, and then he was closing them over the tip, sucking gently.

“Fuck!” gasped the elf, unmarked hand flying up to grab onto Dorian’s biceps, fingers digging into the firm muscles there.

“Well, maybe if you ask nicely.” Dorian chuckled, releasing Mahanon’s ear to go back to his neck.

“Arse,” Mahanon grumbled breathlessly. It really wasn’t fair that Dorian could undo him this quickly. It was like he was a virgin all over again.

“You love it.” Mahanon couldn’t deny that, a smile stretching his lips as he pulled Dorian into a kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured against the Altus’ lips, hand leaving his biceps to card through his black hair, still damp from their bath. He left the marked one flat against the bed. They broke apart quickly, Dorian moving his kisses to Mahanon’s chest, his tongue circling the nipple he wasn’t abusing with his fingers. Mahanon’s grip tightened on his hair, arching his back to push his chest more firmly against Dorian’s mouth.

“What’s the Dalish word for chest, I wonder?” asked Dorian, pulling away just enough to speak. It took Mahanon a moment to realize what he’d said.

“ _Duine_.” he said, breathless. “ _Duinelan_ if you’re talking about a, ahh, woman.” Dorian had chosen that moment to bite down, and Mahanon was rather proud of himself for keeping his voice mostly level.

“I have a proposal, Amatus, if you’ll indulge me?” asked Dorian, the smug bastard barely even breathing heavily. He sounded, for all intents and purposes, like he was taking a leisurely stroll or reading one of his books. Mahanon hated to admit that he found it insanely attractive when the Altus got into one of these moods.

“What proposal?” he asked, forcing himself not to grind against Dorian’s stomach.

“I feel that my curiosity about your people is not yet fully satiated, so I’m going to keep asking you questions. Answer them, and I’ll reward you. Fail and I’ll stop whatever I’m doing to you in that moment, and switch to something less stimulating.” he said, glancing back up at Mahanon as he spoke. His eyes were dark, and the look in them sent a fresh wave of heat through Mahanon.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said with a smirk that was quickly wiped off his face as Dorian’s teeth closed once more over his nipple. He gasped, biting his lip, his head pressing into the pillows.

“Good.” purred Dorian, tongue swirling one last time over the abused bud before he began to make his way lower. “Then what is your word for the stomach?” he asked as he licked a path over Mahanon’s toned muscles.

“ _Gheav_.” Mahanon gasped out, shifting restlessly at the ticklish pleasure, unsure whether to laugh or moan. He whined when Dorian’s hands left his chest, going instead to his thighs, scratching lightly at the sensitive skin.

“Thighs?” he asked, tongue dipping into Mahanon’s navel, making him shiver and huff out a laugh.

“ _T-Tar’shol_.” he answered, glad that Dorian was asking easy questions because he could feel his focus slipping away. Those questing hands slid ever higher, brushing against pale curls so very close to where Mahanon was dying for some friction.

“I’m going to guess that you have a word for this, yes?” Dorian asked, running his fingers through the short, wiry hairs.

“ _Dhula'edhan_.” said Mahanon. Dorian nodded, pressing a kiss to Mahanon’s stomach before he adjusted himself lower on the bed.

“You’re doing so very well, Amatus.” Dorian said, smiling up at him, and Mahanon couldn’t help but return it. A not-so-small part of him loved when Dorian praised him, especially during sex. “Now, what is the word for this, I wonder?” he asked, trailing his fingers over the hard ridge of Mahanon’s erection. The elf gasped, head falling back against the pillows.

“ _Edhis_ o-or _paladhal_. D-depends on how clinical you, ahh, want to b-be.” he gasped as Dorian’s hand closed around his length, stroking him gently. A second later he was keening as Dorian’s tongue laved a hot path up his cock, swirling around the head until Mahanon was panting.

“And if I were to take you in my mouth and suck you until you came screaming my name? What would you call that?” Dorian’s voice was low and smooth as he purred out the words, and Mahanon couldn’t help the moan that slipped past his lips. He thrust upwards, trying to get Dorian’s attention back on his aching length, but a smack to his thigh made him still. “Answer Amatus, or I move back to somewhere a little less sensitive.”

“Fuck, Dorian…I don’t…we don’t have a word for it. _”_ he gasped out, nearly sobbing when Dorian stroked him once more.

“Such a pity.” said the Altus, and then his soft lips were slipping over the head, his tongue swirling and pressing in ways that made Mahanon’s eyes roll back in his head. He knew he wouldn’t last long, too keyed up from the teasing touches and Dorian’s undeniable skill. He tried not to thrust as the Altus slipped lower, taking Mahanon’s cock into his throat like it was nothing.

“ _Fenedhis_ , Dorian, ahh,” he cried out, his marked hand twisted in the sheets, glowing brighter as his magic reacted to the pleasure coursing through him. “ _Vhenan_ I’m not, ah, not going to last long.” Instead of an answer, Dorian hummed, pulling up until just the tip of Mahanon’s cock was in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the slit. A second later Mahanon felt something slick teasing at his hole, still relaxed from their previous activities.

“And what do we call this, Amatus?” Dorian asked, ignoring Mahanon’s groan of protest at the sudden lack of attention to his dick.

“ _Fani_ , we say _fani_ , now please _vhenan_ …” he trailed off with a moan as Dorian sucked him back in, pressing a finger into him and crooking it upwards almost instantly. Mahanon bit back his shout, pleasure sparking through his veins like the lightning he favored. He was close now, could feel it coiling in his gut as he fought not to thrust and choke Dorian.

He could feel the Altus shift further onto his knees, could hear the slick sound of his hand stroking his own length, and the sound of it combined with the soft moan in Dorian’s throat had Mahanon arching, mark flaring brightly as electricity crackled through the air.

“ _R-Rosal'da'din_ ,” he gasped, breathless as his whole body tensed, hovering on the brink before he tipped over into blinding pleasure. He moaned, shaking as the waves crashed over him, drawn out by Dorian’s finger massaging his prostate. Dorian swallowed around him, and he knew that if he looked down he would see that smug twinkle in the man’s eye that he always got when he made Mahanon fall apart like this.

Finally, after what seemed an age Mahanon was relaxing back into the sheets, still twitching and shaking as he came down from his high. All at once Dorian was surging up, taking Mahanon’s mouth in a breath stealing kiss, moaning as he trust into his own fist.

Mahanon returned the kiss, wrapping his own hand around Dorian’s length as the Altus tensed. One, two, three more strokes and he was pulling away from Mahanon’s to bury his face in his shoulder, shaking his way through his own orgasm, his spend shooting out over Mahanon’s stomach and chest. As soon as he’d relaxed he fell onto the bed beside Mahanon, pulling the elf close with shaking hands.

“Well, that was certainly something.” said the Altus after a moment, pressing a kiss to Mahanon’s ear. Mahanon laughed, turning to pull Dorian into a kiss, tasting himself on the man’s tongue.

“Satisfied now, _vhenan_ , or is there more you would know?” asked Mahanon, still slightly breathless. Honestly, despite not having been awake very long, he felt he could use a nap.

“You said something, just before you came. What was it?” asked Dorian, running his fingers through Mahanon’s no doubt spectacularly mussed and static-y hair. “Rosal…something.”

“ _Rosal'da'din_?” asked Mahanon, ignoring the blush that spread over his cheeks. He was a Dalish elf who didn’t get flustered over sex. “ It’s…well it means to experience an orgasm.”

“Ahh,” Dorian sighed, “Yes that makes sense. Thank you for teaching me, Amatus. I find your culture fascinating.”

“Not a problem, _vhenan_. Though I do think this must be the oddest way I’ve ever taught someone about my people.”

“Affective, however. I’ve learned quite a bit today.” said Dorian with a laugh. “But alas, we both need to clean up again it seems. I know that your dear advisors said that you could have today off, but you know how well that works. Might as well be somewhat dressed when they come barging in.”

Mahanon laughed, remembering what had happened the last time they had given him a day to rest. Poor Cullen had learned to knock quite quickly after he’d been faced with Dorian bending Mahanon over his desk. He shook his head, looking down at his chest to where Dorian’s semen was beginning to cool.

“ _Isreun_.” he said, swiping a finger through the mess. Dorian, who had been moving to grab the towel he had dropped beside the bed earlier, looked back at him confused. “Or _reun_ , of you want. The Dalish word for semen.”

Dorian nodded in understanding, passing Mahanon the towel so he could clean up. Before he took it, he popped his finger into his mouth, moaning slightly at the salty taste of Dorian on his tongue. “ _E'sha'reun'rodhe_.” he muttered, eyes trained on Dorian. The Altus’ eyebrow twitched up, curious.

“And what could that possibly mean?” he asked as he slipped back under the covers, this time bundling up further. There was a cold wind making its way through one of the windows, and it was unpleasant even for Mahanon.

“It’s what we say for the happy surprise when your partner’s cum taste’s good.” answered Mahanon, ignoring the blush in favor of his own smirk. Dorian looked at him, processing what he’d said, before bursting out laughing.

“You’re serious aren’t you?” he asked between giggles, holding his stomach tightly.

“Dead serious, unfortunately. We have a word for everything. Except fellatio it seems.” replied Mahanon as he wiped his chest clean. That done he curled up once more on his side, dropping the now dirty towel back onto the floor.

“Really?” said the Altus, fascination in his voice. “Well, it seems I have more studying to do then.”

“It would seem so, _vhenan_.” said Mahanon, “I look forward to our next lesson.”

“As do I, Amatus.” Dorian replied, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “As do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Wow, two stories in a week... What demon did I sacrifice my soul to? Anyway, I'm here with another Mahanon and Dorian story, and a lot of information on the Dalish. Most of which came from the Dragon Age wiki. All of the Elvhen was taken from FenxShiral amazing Project Elvhen Lexicon (http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848). The information on how to make the vallaslin ink is a headcanon of mine. I couldn't find anything about how they actually make it, or why it's considered sacred, so I just ran with it. This whole story came from being interested in the Dalish, and since Dorian got to talk so much about Tevinter in game, I figured it was only fair Mahanon got his turn. Also, I headcanon that a mage can learn any kind of magic, but they have an affinity for one kind more than the others. Mahanon's is lightning/storm magic, and Dorian's is fire. 
> 
> I think all of the Elvhen gets explained in the story, but if I missed something just let me know. I'll hopefully have more stuff with these two dorks up soon! If you want to see what my Mahanon looks like, here's a link: http://alyarayne.tumblr.com/post/160173442183/my-inquisitor-mahanon-lavellan. Comments and kudos are life! Thank you for reading!
> 
> P.s. As I was editing this my spellcheck kept telling me to change Dalish to Danish, and mabari to malaria, and I still haven't stopped laughing!


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